


Finders Keepers (It's The Law)

by likealocket



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-16
Updated: 2007-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likealocket/pseuds/likealocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is a firm believer that a band that plays together is allowed to go through each other's shit.  Together. Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finders Keepers (It's The Law)

**Author's Note:**

> So um. First finished bandom fic?
> 
> Under 700 words words, written in about 40 minutes, inspired by hiddenmuse's book title prompt thing until it took on a completely unrelated and ridiculous life of it's own. I don't even know. Thanks to adellyna for the quick beta and o4fuxache for most of my sanity.

"Give it," Ryan demands. Brendon is constantly amazed by the way Ryan can manage to sound both bored and very, very threatening at the same time. From experience, Brendon knows the monotone can, in fact, persist up until the very _moment_ of a beat down.

Which is maybe why he's curled up in the corner of Jon's bunk (the highest point on the bus that he can fit into) with the curtain closed and Dylan Jr., the stuffed gray-and-white striped kitten, in front of him keeping guard.

But he is totally not scared of Ryan at all. Please.

"Seriously, Brendon. Give it fucking back. Right now."

"Nope. Finders keepers, Ross!" Brendon proclaims gleefully. That's like, practically a law.

"You didn't find it, fucker," Ryan points out. "You took it out of my makeup case, which was inside of my messenger bag-"

"Manpurse," Brendon coughs.

"-which was under my blanket on my bunk." Ryan continues, and he does sort of have a point. But Brendon is a firm believer that a band that plays together is allowed to go through each other's shit. Together. Or, something. Anyway, there are no secrets in Panic! at the Disco, no sir.

Which is why when Brendon had been maybe kind of sitting on Ryan's bunk going through his bag four minutes ago, he'd been surprised to find a small blue book with a purple flower on the front and a tiny, cheap lock across the side. A journal. One he'd never seen before. He'd been busy picking at the lock with the pointiest thing he could find (the tip of a mascara wand) when Ryan had come in from the front lounge, given him a _look_ and Brendon had scrambled up into Jon's bunk across the aisle.

"Ryan Ross, I am deeply offended that you haven't shared this with me before," Brendon says, trying to sound as Deeply Offended as he feels. He gestures at Ryan with the mascara, even though he can't see. "We could have written hit songs with these lyrics and had a platinum record and like, lots of play."

"It's not lyrics." Suddenly the curtain is yanked open and there's Ryan, eyes narrowed. Brendon scoots back a little and makes sure Dylan Jr. is still between them. "And we have that shit, assface."

"Yeah, but Ryan. This could literally unlock a world in which we have _more_ ," Brendon declares, face serious. "Think Ryan, the contents of this book, in my hands, could get us laid. A lot."

He pokes at the lock with the brush of the mascara wand again and Ryan lunges for him, propelled up by his foot on Spencer's bunk below. Brendon twists to avoid his hands and in the ensuing struggle Ryan kind of ends up spooning him from behind. The lock clicks open suddenly, unexpectedly, (Brendon should _so_ become an international jewel thief, because he is _awesome_ at breaking and entering) and Ryan makes a renewed, almost frantic grab but it's too late.

The cover falls open and the powder blue pages are filled with words.

A lot of them are Brendon's name.

"Oh," Brendon says.

Ryan's goes limp beside him, flopped on to his back with his eyes closed. Dylan Jr. is under his knee.

There is clearly only one thing to do about this. Brendon rolls until he's on his side, chest against Ryan's right arm, and pokes Ryan in the cheek with the mascara wand, leaving random freckles of black pigment. He's nearly done with a connect-the-dots heart when Ryan sighs and cracks an eye open.

Brendon grins hard and traces the rest of the shape with his finger. Ryan's lips twitch up at one corner.

"I was right," Brendon says smugly. "Those would make fucking awesome lyrics, Ross. Because they're about _me_ ," Ryan's eyes narrow again, so he tips his head forward, planting a bright, quick kiss. "And also, we're totally going to get laid a lot more now."

He leans in again, like he's sharing a secret. "By _each other_."

Ryan's eyes close again, but for a different reason.


End file.
